


11 years

by Danagirl623



Series: Parentlock [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Parenthood, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-26 10:22:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14400153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Danagirl623/pseuds/Danagirl623
Summary: I’m hoping to write a series of cute and sweet Parentlock fics. I’ll title them with the age. Enjoy my friends.If my daughter EVER gets around to reading these, I'd like her to know Rosie Watson is a bit like her, but more JW and SH than anything.





	11 years

**Author's Note:**

> Just to clarify, a "mattress" stitch is a fancy suture that pulls the skin together in high tension areas, typically backs. I'm sure with Sherlock's immense knowledge he read about it but doesn't know how to perform it, especially on his daughter. As ACD's Sherlock Holmes once accused our dear Doctor John Watson of being fanciful in his descriptions of the cases, I too am being fanciful.

Rosie Watson had never broken a bone in all 11 years of her life, thank you very much. Sure she'd had scrapes and bruises and a couple of burns, living with Papa definitely made that a possibility.

  
So finding herself at the surgery with a broken leg made her slightly nervous. Her dad was not going to be happy with her papa. Her dad was a doctor and her papa was well. A scientist she assumed. Scientist Papa and his little lab assistant Rosie got up to some shenanigans and she ended up at the dispensary. Poor papa was in a worse state than she was though.

  
“Papa.” Rosie smiled at her still lithe, slight greying father. “Until my accident, this has been the best day of school ever.”

  
Sherlock looked at her, sternly. “In retrospect, my plans were a bit not good.”

  
“Says who?”

  
“John. Well. he will once he sees you.”

  
“It’s fine! I’ll just tell him it’s not your fault.”

  
Sherlock groaned. “I’m positive he won’t believe you.”

  
“You’re god damn right I won’t believe you!” John Watson growled from the doorway. He was furious right now.

  
“Hi Daddy!” Rosie said, brightly.

  
“Hi baby.” John said, walking over to her side. He looked her over. 3 new cuts- all needing stitches- right broken leg and brokens fingers on left hand. John huffed at his deductions. He looked at Sherlock. ‘Focus on what’s right.’ Ella’s voice floated back to him from years ago.

  
John kissed his daughter’s head, then reached out to take his husband’s hand. Sherlock blinked in confusion, but grabbed his hand anyway. “Sherlock,” John addressed him, still looking Rosie over. “You did very well in a shitty situation. You brought her here immediately. You texted me. You gave her paracetamol. Well done, my love.”

  
“Thank you.” He blinked

  
“I was very scared when I got your message, but I’m grateful you texted me” John said evenly. “I’m scared, angry, worried, and I know it makes me lash out.” John caught eyes with Sherlock. “I’m trying to be better.”  
Sherlock studied his grey haired, muscular short still gorgeous husband as he absorbed those words. John never stopped trying to be his best. But this was different. He was telling Sherlock “Please remember I’m only human” Sherlock kissed John’s cheek and laid his head down on his husband’s shoulder.

  
“Papa didn’t cause this!” Rosie said, suddenly. She ignored the snuggle. “I was running and I didn’t see the parked car.”

  
“So instead of letting Papa take the blame you’re willing to claim clumsy?” John inquired giving her the “tell me the whole truth” face.  
Rosie squirmed. “Yes!” She was lying, but it wasn’t a bad lie according to her Papa.

  
“Rosie.” Sherlock whined. “I’m your father. It was my fault.”

  
“Partly.” John agreed. “She’s 11 years old. She should know to look for cars.”

  
“Daddy, don’t be mad at Papa. I was winning the lesson and I got distracted.”

  
“Winning?” John’s eyes narrowed at Sherlock.

  
“Physical education class.” Sherlock supplied, innocently.

  
A knock on the door interrupted any resulting lecture. “Hi Sarah.” John said, eyeing his former colleague.

  
“Hi, John. What do we have?”

  
“Broken fibula, third and fourth digital break. 3 lacerations needing sutures. You’ll need to order x-rays and orthopedics follow up.”

  
“I love when Dr. Watson is here. Less work for me.” She smiled, examining Rosie.

  
John sat down across from Rosie. Sherlock slumped down next to John and sighed. “You did well, love.”

  
Sherlock whispered, “I’ve never been so scared in my life. I saw our brilliant sweet girl crumple.”

  
John pulled his husband’s head to his shoulder. “You did everything right.”

  
Sherlock was tearing up. “What if-?”

  
“No, Sherl-” John interrupted. “Our girl is great. Just beat up.”

  
“Yeah, Papa!” Rosie said, smiling. “I’m great. My leg doesn’t really hurt.”

  
Sherlock wiped tears off his cheeks, and tried to hide his face in John’s shoulder. “Yes, John.” Sherlock muttered feeling hen-pecked.

  
“Your dad’s right.” Sarah said, ignoring the sentiment. “X-rays and sutures. I’ll go order some x-rays and let Dad get to suturing.” Sarah excused herself.

  
Rosie groaned. “I hate sitting still.”

  
“Then don’t break yourself.” John chided her.

“Hey love, why don’t you suture her arm?” he asked as he grabbed the suturing supplies.

  
“Two suturing at once will be faster, and less sitting for Ms. Rosamund.” Sherlock agreed as he moved to her side.

  
“Since when could you suture?” Rosie asked.

  
“Back when John was falling in love with Mary. I was fighting bad guys.I had to stitch no less than 6 wounds on myself and 7 on John.”

  
Rosie goggled at her papa. “You’re a scientist. Not an action star.”

  
John chuckled. “Sherlock is quite the action guy. He used to race all over London chasing bad guys. How do you think I know all the best shortcuts? Your papa showed me.”John set about suturing the facial laceration. “I used to follow him all over London.” John laughed at his memories. “Sherl, remember that time when I cuffed the superintendent of police force and we were going to get arrested, but we ran away just in time?”

  
“Inappropriate.” Sherlock murmured. Slowly, carefully without the practiced hand of a doctor, he approximated the wound edges on his daughter’s arm.

  
“Dad! You got arrested?” Rosie asked, ignoring the sting from suturing.

  
“Almost.” John corrected. “Listen, your old dads weren’t always so old, you know. It wasn’t just boxing on Mondays and doting on the princess on all other days.”

  
“John.” Sherlock groaned. “Stop it. She’ll get the wrong opinion of us.”

  
“Sherlock, I think she’s had the wrong opinion of us for years.” John countered, tying off one line of sutures. He busied himself to suture the other wound. “Did you know that your Papa has refused knighthood no less than 5 times?”

  
“Why?” Rosie asked, curious about what he’s done to earn it.

  
“Knighthood.” Sherlock scoffed studying the wound. He sounded like the man John fell in love with.

  
“You think about adding a mattress?” John asked, glancing over. “I think you should.”

  
“Yes I agree.” Sherlock nodded. “Rosamund, my dear girl.” Rosie giggled at being addressed so formally. “John has been offered knighthood no less than 10 different times. Your Uncle Myc,” Sherlock grinned at the title. His relationship with Mycroft was rocky at best, but Uncle Myc never stopped her from addressing him in such a familiar manner. “Keeps putting us in situations where we can save someone important-”

  
“Wait.” Rosie said, huffed in a very John like manner. Both men stopped suturing. “Are you telling me that you guys are really Batman and Robin?”

  
John roared with laughter, and went back to suturing. Sherlock shot a hateful look at Rosie. “I am the World’s Only Consulting Detective. What Batman does is…. Child’s play!” Sherlock had stumbled upon the 1960’s version of Batman and fell in hate with it. Rosie had been 7 at the time and fell in love with it.

  
John tied off his second line of sutures, then smiled at Rosie. “You can be Batgirl and I’ll be Robin.”

  
Robin got a smirk on her face. “Papa, you’re Batman.”

  
Sherlock tugged at his sutures rather tighter than necessary. Rosie whined. “Papa! Gentle! I am a delicate Watson flower.” Sherlock groaned wishing he had never called her that.

  
“John, do you want to finish these sutures? You’re better anyway.” Sherlock asked, trying to hand over the needle and thread.

  
“You’ve only got three more left to do. Go on, love.” John encouraged, kissing his husband’s head.

  
Sherlock started muttering to himself in Russian. At first, speaking Russian was to teach Rosie a third language (French was the second language) but after all these years, he still liked to show off when John was around.

  
“Inappropriate.” Rosie remind him that she spoke Russian too.

  
“Nosy.” Sherlock murmured. A knock on the door interrupted them. Sherlock tied off the suture line.

  
“X-ray” the man at the door called.

  
“Hi Matt!” Rosie smiled. Matt worked there for years and x-rayed little Rosie Watson many times.

  
“You ready, girlie?” he rolled the wheelchair over to her. He helped her down and into the chair. They set off happily chatting.

 

  
Sherlock threw his sharps into the red box, then threw himself into John’s arms. “So scared.” he repeated feeling tears run down his cheeks. John held him, making hush, hush noises. “This was not in the lesson plans!”

  
“I’m very proud of you.” John said. “I could tell you were scared, but you put that aside to handle the situation like a Dad does. You’re an excellent partner and dad.” John kissed his husband’s forehead.

  
“You’re going to kill me.” Sherlock whined.

  
“I may punch you harder than normal.” John admitted. Monday night boxing was a date night activity. They two boys loved the adrenaline rush and the muscles the other formed with such vigorous workout. “But I’m not mad at you. Homeschooling Rosie was the best thing we-” Sherlock squeaked his displeasure. “You could have done. She was bored and you know better than anyone how not good that is.” John hugged Sherlock, adding a small kiss to Sherlock’s forehead.

  
“Yes John.” Sherlock sniffled, wiping his eyes.

  
“Now, you sit up on the table.” he instructed.

“You need sutures yourself. Don’t think it escaped my attention.” Sherlock climbed up and sat calmly as John sewed the wound close. “Trash can?” he inquired.

  
“Shopping cart.”

  
“Tetanus booster.” John replied, leaving to get it. He came back and administered it.

  
“Dr. Watson.” Sherlock purred, with a sly smile. “I think your the best doctor in the whole country.”

  
“Mr. Holmes. You need to stop this. We’re in public.” John chided with a kiss. “Tonight, my king.”

  
They heard Rosie’s mouth going a mile a minute as she was wheeled down the hall. “No way. Marvel is 100 times better than DC.”

  
“What do you know? You’re a kid.”

  
“Thor. Captain America. Wolverine.”

  
“Crap on a stick. Batman. Superman. Green Lantern.”

  
“Aquaman!” Rosie scoffed. She sounded so much like Sherlock, John giggled.

  
“Antman.”

“Dude.” Rosie exclaimed. “He shrinks to the size of an ant and he rides an ant.”

  
“Lame.” Matt argued. “Good news, lads. She’s back to arguing. She’s fine.”

  
“She’s a bit too much like her papa. Argumentative to death.”

  
“Papa?” Rosie asked, ignoring the adults talking. “Can I borrow your phone?” John handed it over before Sherlock could tell him to do it. Rosie shot a text to Molly.

  
Hi Auntie! I’m at Bart’s. Save me from these men. Ta xx RW

Molly was laughing as she responded to her.

You only call me Auntie when they annoy you. What happened? Xx ML

  
I walked into a car. Broke my leg. RW

  
What did SH do? ML

  
Is JW mad? ML

  
Broken fingers in left hand. Dad was so mad he was calm. Papa cried. RW

  
“Rosie!” Sherlock said, in a sing-songy voice.

“Dr. Sarah asked you a question.”

  
“What color cast, dear?”

  
“Blue!” She smiled. “Darker the better.”

  
Bye Auntie xx RW

  
“How will your friends sign?”

  
“All my friends are dead.”

  
John cocked his head to one side, holding up his finger. “Sarah. She’s got friends. He likes to say that because her FATHER.” John spat at Sherlock. “Likes to take her to Les Mis.”

  
“Dad.” Rosie groaned.

  
“You can’t tell people all your friends are dead.”

  
“Marius did.”

  
“Marius didn’t have have access to modern mental health resources that we do.” John said, reasonably.

  
“The music to that show is beautifully written.” Sherlock said, with a grin.

  
“Sherlock, can you handle this?” John glanced at his watch. “I have a practical exam in 45 minutes.”

  
“Yes!” Sherlock grinned. “What do you say, Rosie?”

  
“Daddy can go if he brings fish and chips from my stand for dinner.”

  
“Spoiled brat.” John agreed, kissing his daughter on the head as he left the dispensary.

 

The practical exam made the time fly by. John only remembered to get Rosie’s dinner by luck. He walked in the door to see his daughter resting on the couch. She was reading one of her textbooks. Their bulldog pup was on her lap. John heard Sherlock’s deep voice rather than saw him.

  
“Hi Daddy!” Rosie smiled, shutting her text book. “Dr. Sarah said no football.”

  
“Well, as your coach I have to say, “no football” love.”

  
Rosie pouted. “Uncle Myc is here. He thinks we can’t hear him when they go to Papa’s office.”

  
John slipped his coat off. “How are you baby?” he hung up his coat and brought her dinner over. The dog lifted its head and gave a lazy sniff. He settled back down and ignored it.

  
“Better, Daddy!” She happily tucked into her fish and chips. John nodded, and went downstairs. The shouting grew louder. Mycroft was shouting at his brother for being so irresponsible. Mycroft couldn’t believe that Sherlock would would remove his niece (Oh HOLY FUCK Myc.) from school to home school her like some religious weirdo.

  
John pushed the door open slightly to stare down Mycroft. Very quickly he withered under John’s stare. “What did you call my daughter?”  
“I said,” Mycroft said calmly. “I would hate for someone to assume a Holmes is some sort of religious weirdo.”

  
“Don’t worry Mycroft. We won’t taint the holy name of Holmes.”

  
“We’re Watsons.” Sherlock interjected. “You’re right, John. I should have changed my name to Watson years ago.” Remembering a conversation he had stored in his mind palace.

  
“Mummy would die!”

  
“Mummy and Daddy are dead!” Sherlock said evenly. “I have been John Watson’s for nearly 15 years. It’s just a name change. “A rose by any other name would smell as sweet” Daddy would have quoted at you. I am still Sherlock Holmes, the world’s only consulting detective. If my last name is Holmes or Watson, I am still me.” Sherlock said, watching for the glint of jealousy that was always present when they discussed John. “Maybe if you got yourself a “goldfish”. You’d be less bitter, less jealous, and possibly thinner.

  
John giggled, feeling intensely proud of his husband. “Oh Sherl, you know that Myc is only interested in the queen.”

  
“Why do I even try?” Mycroft asked, sounding bored.

  
Sherlock smirked taking this opportunity to fill Mycroft in on himself. “Because you want a family so badly you’ll suffer any abuse we hurl at you so you feel like you belong. You’ll give us everything and still deal with our abuse because somehow you got the twisted notion that love hurts. Somewhere in that brain of yours that understands everything else, but love, you have no files to consult this topic.You see how loved I am with John and Rosie. You are jealous, because finally this is a game you can’t best your little brother in. You don’t know how to get any sort of love, but you’ve already got it with us. Rosie Watson loves you. I tolerate you.” John cleared his throat. “I like you when you aren’t throwing insults. John accepts you and truthfully, that’s a big thing considering what you’ve put us through.”

Mycroft stared at him, aghast. “My advice is get the stick out of your arse and lower yourself to be just human if you can.”

  
At this suggestion, Mycroft scoffed looking the most affronted John had ever seen him. “I am more than human. I am a well honed machine.”

  
“That’s your failure.” John said, dismissively. “Why are you here?”

  
“I came to see my niece.”  he used a familial term that made John grin.

  
“CCTV?” John asked.

  
“Yes. I’ll just go up now.” he excused himself to upstairs.

  
John slumped into a seat. “Hi my lover.”

  
“Mycroft’s a moron.”

  
“He’s trying love.” John sighed. “I do enjoy you taking him to task, though.”

  
“He tries to be a good man but he’s not you.”

  
“He’s not you, Sherlock.” John said, intensely. “You are a far better man than he’ll ever comprehend.” John smiled. “So you’re a Watson, huh?”

  
“Obliviously.” Sherlock was being sarcastic.

“It’s about time I realized it. Don’t you think so? I’m not the man you fell in love with.”

  
“Neither am I.” John agreed. “You are so much more than the man I fell in love with. You’re everything I need.” Sherlock scoffed. “Access your files. Deny what you are.” John said, fiercely.

  
Sherlock entered his mind palace heading straight for the John compound. He went to the very back as he knew it was a very old conversation he needed to access. He rifled through the transcripts and found the correct one. He read through it until he found what he needed. 

  
John watched him employ his mind palace technique. He watched him find the answer. It took seconds, but John loved to watch his beautiful face.

  
“Partner.” Sherlock said.

  
“Deny you’re my partner. My equal. Especially after the way you handled yourself today.”

  
Sherlock smiled at his husband, before leaning forward. “I deduct you are baiting me to a fight, so we can have rage sex.”

  
John’s mirth echoed throughout the house. However the much lower “Clever lad” was only for Sherlock. Sherlock couldn’t help but grin because the game was on.


End file.
